


Day 1: Slime

by Aichi



Series: Kinktober 2020 [1]
Category: Cardfight!! Vanguard
Genre: M/M, Slime, Transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:15:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26771269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aichi/pseuds/Aichi
Summary: The first day of Kinktober (a day late). Luard is slime.
Relationships: Luard/Stealth Dragon Shiranui
Series: Kinktober 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1951588
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	Day 1: Slime

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this is: A) Actually two days late. Shh. I'm playing catchup already. B) About three times longer than intended. The daily goal is a very brief 300-500 words so please don't expect this consistently. C) NOT EVEN FINISHED! It's going to be the first part to the Day Two prompt since I realized I was filling a couple on my list here, which is why it's also D) ACTUALLY NOT KINKY AT ALL SORRY UNLESS YOU LIKE G-RATED TF which I do and I'm in charge here, so,
> 
> Anyway, day one: Slime Time.

“Okay,” says Luard, “I can explain.”

Shiranui folds his arms, a claw tapping idly against scales as he surveys the unidentifiable black liquid splattered across what should have been spotless tatami mats. It’s not entirely clear what happened here, but Luard himself seems fine, thank goodness. He’s utterly drenched in the thick, almost oily substance, and his voice — sharpened and defensive before he’s even accused of anything — sounds a lot more… underwater than usual, but he doesn’t appear to be in any kind of distress beyond the standard humiliation of a failed experiment.

“Bet you Uscias gave me a bad formula on purpose,” he mumbles, words bubbling through the heavy layer of sludge coating his face and body. “‘ _More efficient mana usage’_ , he says. I’m going to kill him.”

Black droplets shower across the room — and Shiranui — as he swishes his half-shifted tail irritably. It does absolutely nothing to reduce the amount of the stuff on Luard himself. Not even an inch of skin, scale, or cloth is visible under the strange and viscous liquid, and his silhouette is thickened, softened at the edges, facial features reduced to base approximations under the clinging layer of slime. An equally thick, glistening trail drips behind him as he paces in circles, still muttering to himself.

Shiranui sighs, but at the same time, a smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. Occasional unintentional property damage was just a part of living with Luard, and while he’s not sure he’d call it _endearing_ exactly, it’s not something he can bring himself to be upset about. At the very least, nothing seemed to have exploded this time.

“Miss Morfessa did try to warn me about him,” he says, conversationally. “And about you too, to be fair.”

Luard freezes. The liquid covering him bubbles violently, as if channeling his reaction.

“When did _you_ talk to _her_?” he asks. “What did she say about me?”

“Don’t worry, don’t worry. Nothing embarrassing. She seems like a very intelligent and responsible woman, really. She simply—” Shiranui’s brow creases in concern as he trails off. “Luard? Are you all right?”

“I’m, ah—” Even Luard’s voice sounds sticky now, and somehow distant, like he’s speaking from the other end of a long tunnel. “I’m okay, but I—she didn’t tell you about the time I—” Bubbles burst over his slime-coated skin, and the rest of his words are lost.

And then, right before Shiranui’s eyes, Luard _melts_.

More accurately, the pile of black sludge encasing him collapses wetly to the floor, and Luard’s form seems to go along with it. It all happens in an instant; his arms and tail stretch like rubber before they fall away entirely in a rain of heavy, dark globules, and the features of his face drip down his body as it folds in on itself and sinks to the ground. It’s as if his shape had simply given up on _being_ and reduced itself to pure energy, if that energy took the form of smooth, shiny, pitch-black slime.

“Luard!” Panic sinks its claws into Shiranui’s chest just as abruptly as Luard had collapsed, and he falls to his knees beside the mass of slime. A hand hovers over it, desperate but uncertain, fighting the urge to try and scoop his partner’s body together again — if he touches the stuff and disintegrates too, who will help Luard then? “Luard!” he barks again, his throat dry.

The sludge bubbles, and then, in a voice that’s damp and distorted but unmistakably Luard, says: “I’m okay. I think I’m slime, though.”

“...You are,” Shiranui replies, the words scraping the inside of his throat. Hearing Luard speak is enough to unhook at least some of the barbs of worry lodged into his scales; dragshifting is transformative magic at its core, after all, and it wouldn’t be the first time an experiment had resulted in unexpected, non-dragonic bodily modifications. Last time, though, that had meant Luard turning himself into a mermaid — which, while it proved to be a difficult thing to reverse, had been a lot less worrying, given he’d still looked mostly like himself.

“I think it’s probably safe to touch me,” Luard says, the slime rippling as he speaks. “The formula was specifically targeted at me, so it shouldn’t affect you.” As if to prove his point, the slime _moves_ , splashing up against Shiranui’s bent knees like a wave breaking on a rock. “I need you to carry me to the study. The sooner I get back to normal, the sooner I can kill Uscias." The name is accompanied by an angry black bubble that quickly swells and bursts, splattering across the floor.

Nerves still prickling, Shiranui experimentally scoops some of the slime into his claws. It’s not at all like holding water, or any liquid, really; it’s so viscous that it _stretches_ as he tries to pull part of it away, and all of it — all of _Luard_ — detaches from the ground with a low sucking noise, crawling up his arms and nestling into his chest before he can summon any reaction beyond a stunned gasp.

“Luard…” he says, letting out a long breath, still trying to accustom himself to the idea that _this_ … _is_ Luard, and that he’s okay, he’s just... slime. He’s been far worse, after all, Shiranui reasons, and although he sounds a little airy and disoriented, he doesn't seem to be in any kind of pain. “I’ve got you.” It’s a reassurance to himself as much as to his partner.

“Yeah,” Luard says, his ‘body’ splashing against Shiranui’s chest. It’s warm, and a lot less wet-feeling than he’d expected; almost like a flowing lump of black rubber. It sticks to his scales on contact, but in the same way an octopus tentacle would; with a pull, it comes away again cleanly. “I can, uh,” Luard continues, “I can feel you. A lot. More than normal. It's... weird. This might warrant further study, actually. I don’t have any eyes, though. That’s a problem. Can't murder Uscias if I'm blind.” He trails off, muttering to himself again.

Shiranui, meanwhile, gets to his feet. A multitude of black splotches remain strewn across the tatami, but Luard doesn’t seem to be missing them, so he leaves them be for now, and carries the armful of still-babbling slime through to the ‘study’, which is more often than not also Luard’s bedroom, and is so littered with stacks of half-read books that Shiranui can barely squeeze his way in.

“You’re warm,” Luard bubbles quietly, as Shiranui is about to set him down on his desk.

“So are you.”

“This isn’t so bad, actually. I'm _d_ _efinitely_ going to have to study this enhanced sense of touch. And your voice — it’s like ripples in the air. It’s everywhere.” With most of his form pressed against Shiranui’s chest, it’s hard not to notice the way the slime grows warm as he speaks, just like Luard's normal skin does when he's flushed and embarrassed. It’s hard to worry too much about it all, too, when his voice lights up with curiosity like that, the way it always does when he’s presented with a scientific puzzle or possibility. Even through the thick distortion of this body, it’s still so indubitably _Luard_. “Anyway, uh, there’s a book on the desk with some paper sticking out? It’s got the formulas Uscias gave me. I can’t see, though, so you’ll have to read them out.”

At the idea of _that_ , Luard seems to burn up even more, and a thought arrives in Shiranui’s mind like a bubble bursting.

“...Do you want me to hold you a little more first?”

A wave of heat blossoms through the slime again. “If you want.”

In another situation, Shiranui might have teased him; _I asked what_ you _want_ , but his nerves are still too edged with concern for that kind of talk, and so he settles down cross-legged on the floor, ignoring the creaking complaints of his artificial leg as he quietly cradles Luard in his lap. He trails a palm across the slime’s surface, his claws leaving shallow scores that just as quickly vanish as if they were washed away.

“You’re not scared?” he asks, after a while. “You’re… well, slime.”

Luard bubbles noncommittally. “After you’ve been a God, it’s kind of hard to be scared of anything.” He pauses, and adds, “I don’t know if that’s a good thing.”

 _I’m scared_ , Shiranui wants to say. _Of something like that happening to you again_. _Of not being able to save you_. But he doesn’t, because Luard is rippling again in a way he’s starting to recognize as scientific concentration, and he’s not about to spoil something so precious as a good mood, especially one that's providing a vital distraction from attempted murder.

“So,” he says instead, cradling Luard close so he doesn’t miss the way his body heat flares in response, “while we’re here, what was it that you didn’t want Miss Morfessa to tell me about?”

**Author's Note:**

> Morfessa has MANY embarrassing stories of dumb bullshit Luard did when he was younger. But this isn't the humiliation prompt.
> 
> Twitter: @cosmowreath


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